


Monster (Tame Me)

by Copper_Nails (Her_Madjesty)



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Dom/sub Undertones, F/M, Force Bond (Star Wars), Hate Sex, Love/Hate, Lust, Masochism, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 23:13:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13087446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Her_Madjesty/pseuds/Copper_Nails
Summary: If she ever bit him, Kylo wonders, would she make him bleed?





	Monster (Tame Me)

**Author's Note:**

> It's about 2:30am the day of my second viewing of the fanfic-made-movie, The Last Jedi. I hope you enjoy this smut, the idea for which came upon me when Kylo, our dear idiot, marched towards Rey and continued to play his edgelord cards, stating, "Yes, I am a monster, be afraid of me, but also join me, maybe?"
> 
> In other words: I'm pretty sure Kylo Ren gets off on Rey calling him a monster for a little while, and this is an exploration of that. Enjoy!

The halls of the _Supremacy_ smell of durasteel, sweat, and bleach.

The halls of the _Supremacy_ smell like rain.

Kylo does not fight off the headache brewing at his temples as he watches the maintenance bay methodically take apart his TIE silencer; instead, he lets it simmer. The pain shakes his molars, but it is reassuring. It keeps him grounded as he listens to the rush of waves all around him – the silence of the empty hall – the patter of nearby rain.

Kylo closes his eyes. When he opens them again, the girl – Rey – is standing at his back.

“I was wondering when I’d see you again,” he says, turning (and that’s the oddity of this bond of theirs; it has no warning that he’s been able to parse, no reason for its whims, yet somehow, he appreciates it). She looks well. Better than she did when last he last saw her in person. There’s no softness in her, but she’s been sleeping and eating regularly, at least; there are no more bags under her eyes, and there is weight to the points of her elbows.

“Murderous snake,” she spits. Kylo forces himself to stay still as she begins to circle him; wherever she’s at, she must have room, because she makes herself known in the space surrounding him. “You’ve lost. I found Skywalker; you’re too late!”

It’s too easy just to watch her; Kylo forces his gaze away from her damp brow and focuses on a spot just past her shoulder, instead. Her surroundings are still muffled, but water shivers around her, a bystander to her simmering anger.

“Has he told you, then?” Kylo asks. Confusion lights in the girl’s eyes, but she’s quick to stamp it back out. “About what happened the night I destroyed his temple?”

“I know everything I need to,” Rey snaps back.

Kylo tilts his head. A surface brush of her mind tells him the truth; she knows nothing, though she has her suspicions. Beyond that, the essence of her mind in his presence ripples with a familiar, burning sort of hatred. It washes over him, and Kylo has to work not to stagger under the weight of it. It feels as though he’s been submerged in a tub of boiling water; it hurts, but everything loosens; it’s the best of evening sonics, the worst days of his training.

A moan builds in the back of his throat, but he refuses to let it go. “Yeah,” he agrees, breathless, “you do. You’ve got that look in your eye – the same one from the forest.”

It’s true, though he doesn’t like to admit it. He’s well familiar with that look, has played in back in his mind a dozen times since her escape just to feel the remnants of her fixation; her fear; her rage. It leaves him warm all over, like he’s wearing too many layers. Kylo curls his hands into fists and steps forward into the _Supremacy_ ’s hall. Rey doesn’t back down as he approaches.

“You know,” he continues, “when you called me a monster.”

“You _are_ a monster,” Rey says. Her voice drips with resentment. In the rain, she’s a live wire. Kylo resists the urge to reach out and ignores the curling heat in his stomach.

There are so many things he wants to tell her – that anger and the Dark Side are close allies; that it is her fury, he’d guess, that keeps his uncle from properly training her. Still, he lets her seethe, just to keep her gaze on him for a moment longer.

“Yes,” he says, stepping forward once more. Rey has to crane her neck to look up at him, and it’s gratifying, the way he can allow himself to loom. “Yes, I am.”

Their connection stutters. Kylo bites down on his tongue to keep from swearing and clings to the smell of rain, to the intensity of Rey’s gaze. He glimpses her for a heartbeat more, maybe less, before she’s swallowed by the _Supremacy_ ’s halls and the harsh scent of metal.

His head is pounding. His gloves are wet.

Kylo staggers backward until he hits the observing glass of the maintenance bay.

It takes several deep breaths for him to stand up straight again.

When he manages, he sets a brisk pace away from the bay, back towards his quarters in a quieter part of the ship. The heat in his belly refuses to abate; it craves _her_ , distracting him as he walks with the memory of her eyes pinning him where he stood.

Kylo grits his teeth and pushes himself to move faster.

Entering his quarters brings only a brief swell of relief against his over-warm skin. Kylo sheds his shirt and runs a hand through his hair. His gloves go next; every inch of him feels like it’s burning. As the gloves drop to the floor, Kylo catches on the memory of her lips around the word “monster” and feels the blood rush from his head.

It takes him a moment to consciously realize that he’s hard.

Kylo spits a curse and throws himself down on his too-thin mattress. The metal frame of it hurts, but even the pain doesn’t distract from the downward spiral in his head, repetition upon repetition of Rey and “monster,” “monster,” “monster.”

Kylo whimpers. He tries to control himself, but the sight of her leaves him desperate for friction; the sound of her makes the silence around him unbearable. Kylo presses against the tight stretch of his trousers, fingers spreading to grip each of his thighs.

He imagines her circling him like a predator, watching him with her hateful eyes as he lies there, knuckles turning white. Her fingers wind into his hair and pull, leaving his neck exposed as she comes to kneel beside him.

It’s a beautiful dream. Kylo reaches down without a thought and starts to stroke himself through his trousers.

“Monster.” The Rey in his imagination caresses his ear with her mouth, the word no more than a puff of air. Her grip on his hair doesn’t lessen as she dips her head to nose at his throat. He imagines her settling on his pulse point and watching him as he twitches. He imagines her biting down.

The cry that escapes his lips echoes through his room. Kylo pushes the waistband of his trousers aside and doesn’t hesitate to stroke himself properly, hand buried beneath the fabric of his underwear. The press of his cock against the fabric hurts, but he doesn’t feel the pain, too lost in the image of Rey hovering above him, her eyes full of disdain.

If she ever bit him, he wonders, would she make him bleed?

“Monster,” she says again, and Kylo imagines one of her hands dragging across his stomach, up to the tender cage surrounding his heart. This imagined Rey lives for the blood beneath his skin; Kylo throws his head back and lets her see him, lets the hand above his heart tap in time with every beat, knowing that if she wanted to, she could reach out and squeeze until the life of him existed only at her will.

His hand moves faster, each stroke cresting over the head of his cock. Kylo’s tenuous grip on his thigh fails, and he lets it fall to his sheet, creasing the fabric as his breaths grow more and more shallow.

He imagines Rey leaning in, wet hair plastered to her face; imagines her hesitating, then biting down on his bottom lip in a mockery of a kiss.

Kylo comes to the taste of his own blood as his imagined Rey rears back, victory written in every line of her face. His room shivers; the echo of his pain and orgasm reverberate through the Force, while the imaginary Rey leans back in and chants, “monster, monster, monster” in his ear.

It takes him a long, long time to come down; even the dream of her leaves stars in its wake to temper the pleasure and pain.

After what feels like an age, Kylo wipes his hand on his trousers and forces himself upright. His headache remains, though it’s a negligible relic of a thing. It’s possible that he should feel ashamed, but instead, he feels settled – more settled than he has in a long, long time.

Kylo observes the imaginary Rey in his head, then carefully sets her aside. He cannot allow himself to be distracted by such things, though the hatred in her – that dark, insidious spark – is undoubtedly worth his attention. If they keep meeting like this, then he could stoke it – drive it – bring her to him -

Kylo ignores the sharp burst of irritation inside his own head, a feeling that is not his own.

“ _E chu ta_ ,” he mutters down the line of their bond.

It takes a moment, but then comes Rey’s voice, crystalline and as pure as the dawn: “ _Sculag_.”

Despite everything, Kylo Ren feels his mouth twitch with the urge to smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you thought! This piece is subject to later edits because, again, it's 2:30am.


End file.
